


tattoo you.

by winterwinterwinter



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28608492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwinterwinter/pseuds/winterwinterwinter
Summary: numbers's tattoos, from first to last.
Relationships: Mr. Numbers/Mr. Wrench (Fargo)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. chapter one, or the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> a casual collection of ficlets, in chronological order, about grady numbers's tattoos, to be updated casually. trying to put yourself in the mind of another person choosing a tattoo for themself is hilariously daunting.

**i.**

grady’s first tattoo was a shitty little stick-and-poke sun on his left bicep shoved under his skin by geraldine marshall who got expelled junior year for defecating on the school janitor’s car. he got inked on a cold november afternoon, three weeks after his seventeenth birthday, sitting in her garage on a ripped up old couch, squeezing wes’s hand in his.

“you’re done,” she said. “where’s my money?”

“clean it first,” grady barked. he wasn’t fucking around. he’d wanted a tattoo since he was thirteen, and he knew all about how they needed to be cleaned and washed and looked after.

begrudgingly, geraldine cleaned his tattoo. she washed it with rubbing alcohol and slapped a band-aid on it. wes rubbed his back while she did it. it was annoying, how attentive he was, but grady’s annoyance was outweighed by how warm wes’s hand was on his back. “money,” she said again once she was done.

“jesus, here,” he said, thrusting a fifty into her palm.

grady lit a cigarette as they walked home. the tattoo burned a little bit under its bandage. despite that he had a spring in his step, and he caught wes’s barely-concealed grin out of the corner of his eye.

_what’re you smiling at?_ grady signed, the cigarette clamped between his lips.

_nothing,_ wes said, his grin broad as grady faced him. his whole face lit up whenever he looked at grady. he never made any effort to hide it, and it often made grady feel like he was the only person in the world. like he was special.  


_smiling at something,_ grady said before shoving him playfully. he nearly dropped his cigarette when wes shoved him back, his lip faltering.

_maybe i’m smiling at you,_ wes said.

_don’t be queer,_ grady said.

wes stuck his tongue out at him. grady lunged at him, spitting his cigarette on the ground, wasting it. wes, light on his feet, hopped out of the way. their eyes met before wes turned and sprinted down the sidewalk.

“hey!” grady yelled, watching as wes ran from him, his tan corduroy jacket flapping in the wind. grady took a deep breath before he gave chase.

  
  


grady removed the bandage before bed. there on his skin was a small, shaky, radiating sun, its lines a little thick and unwieldy, muddy almost. it was barely larger than his thumb. he stared at it in the mirror. it looked like absolute shit. he smiled and began cleaning it.


	2. chapter two, or a knife.

**ii.**

grady spent his first paycheck from moses tripoli on two things: his first month of hormones and a tattoo.

he got it done in a parlor this time. he’d given himself his fourth shot ever the day before and had relegated himself to laying on his stomach for the rest of that afternoon - the shots knocked him on his ass, but he knew he’d get used to it. he spent that time watching _dial mtv_ and daydreaming of his tattoo, the appointment having been made the day they got paid.

_ready?_ wes said the next day, standing in their bedroom doorway wearing his plaid wool coat, his hair shaggy.

grady stood up. _ready as i’ll ever be,_ he said, grinning.

wes, who somehow found grady irresistible by his own admission, held the small of his back with a gentle hand. he gave him a kiss. they parted, and wes tipped his head toward their front door.

wes pulled up a chair next to grady while he got inked. the tattoo was going on the underside of grady’s left forearm, over his veins, and so they couldn’t sign. instead they each paged through the magazines the parlor had haphazardly strewn about - copies of _fangoria_ and _time_ and _rolling stone_ and _omni._ the tattoo artist, a slight fellow called ray, worked mostly in silence.

“what’s that you were doing before, sign language?” ray said, staring down at his work.

“hah, yeah,” grady said.

“shit looks cool.”

“s’how we talk.”

“can’t hear?”

“not a thing.”

“shame.”

“not really,” grady said, because it wasn’t. “works out fine for us.”

“mm.”

grady listened to the buzz of the needle against his skin for a moment. he looked at wes, who was oblivious to their conversation and his looking. no, he knew grady was looking at him. he just chose not to look back.

“what’s ray short for, anything?” grady said without looking away from wes. he resisted the urge to tuck some hair behind wes’s ear.

“rabies.”

grady’s tattoo would need another session. the design he’d chosen had shading, and ray was only able to complete the lineart during their two hour session. “next month would be good,” ray said. “same date, time. s’at good?”

“just fine,” grady said.

grady thrust his arm under wes’s face before ray bandaged it. wes studied it, holding grady’s wrist. _mean anything?_ wes said.

grady almost snorted. _no,_ he said, _just looks cool._

_ you have such taste. _

_ oh, fuck you. _

ray filled out a little card with the date and time - february twentieth, three in the afternoon. “thanks,” grady said.

“hey,” ray said as they turned to leave. “s’there a sign for tattoo?”

grady knew it, but he deferred to wes anyway. _wants to know the sign for tattoo,_ he said, fingerspelling it. wes turned to ray and demonstrated, using the index finger and thumb of his right hand to make a bracket before firmly pressing the bracket against his opposite arm. ray imitated him.

“thanks,” grady said again as they left.

  
  


wes asked again when the bandage came off the next day. they were in the bathroom, grady preparing to step in the shower, wes having just brushed his teeth. _mean anything?_ he said.

grady leaned against the wall beside the shower, thrusting his arm out for them both to see. inked on his forearm with bold black lines was a knife, pointing toward grady. it was a switchblade, exactly like the kind grady used to covet when they were kids. it was about the size of one, tall and slim against his arm. it was beautiful. rabies was a good artist.

_means i like knives,_ grady said, _means i have money now. can pay for shit like this._

the room got steamier the longer the shower was on.

_do you like it?_ grady said.

_if you like it,_ wes said.

  
  


the knife was finished as scheduled, on february twentieth. ray did the shading. at the last minute, grady requested two little drops of blood flying from the tip of the knife, and it was done.

wes found himself staring at the knife later, after it’d healed completely. he compared it to the sun on grady’s other arm, which had faded harshly after only two years. he kissed the sun the next time he saw it, caressing grady’s bicep with his lips. grady shoved him and told him it tickled.


	3. chapter three.

**iii.**

_what if i got knuckle tattoos?_ grady said. _that would be so fucking cool._

_what would they even say?_ wes said.

they were sitting in bed. besides the car, the pair of them were found most often in bed, whether they were sleeping, fucking, lounging. grady was coming down off a high, just a little loopy and all smiles, dreaming big dreams. wes laid beside him reading _the friends of eddie coyle_ again, fingers rubbing over its cracked, broken spine intermittently.

_left hand, love. right hand? hate,_ grady said.

wes wrinkled his nose. he almost cringed. _how about left hand dick, right hand licker,_ he said.

“hey!” grady barked.

_ dick sucker. _

“hey! shut up. wouldn’t even fit…”

wes grinned, watching grady snarl before his face fell into a little pout. he touched grady’s arm, got his eyes back on him. _you shouldn’t get anything anywhere that you can’t cover up,_ he said, suddenly very serious.

_gloves,_ grady said, almost defiant. he rubbed absently at his arm through the sleeve of his hoodie, his left arm, over his knife tattoo.

wes shook his head. _i need you,_ he said. _i can’t see you if you’re wearing gloves._

grady, just a little embarrassed by his selfishness, sighed. _i know,_ he said. _i won’t. just… thinking about it._

wes rubbed grady’s shoulder. grady stared at him beside him in their bed. after a moment, grady shifted, scooting down into a laying position and worming his way under their collection of blankets. he snuggled up to wes’s side, and wes wove his fingers through his unruly dark hair, and as wes read through the afternoon he slept.


	4. chapter four, or a mistake, part one.

**iv.**

grady’s tattoos thus far didn’t have any meaning that wes could discern. an ugly little sun and a switchblade. any time wes asked grady would just shrug. as far as he knew, grady’s first tattoo with a meaning came after they finished a messy job and had a wild fight in the minutes after they got back home.

they slept separately, grady locked in the bedroom, wes sequestered on the couch. when wes woke in the morning grady was gone, his coat missing from the rack by the door. wes found a note by the coffeemaker that just said _out._ he came back eventually, in the middle of the afternoon, his bicep bandaged.

they exchanged terse apologies over cold coffee. they kissed, more out of routine than desire.

when the bandage came off that night, wes saw on grady’s arm, facing outward, a tattered banner wrapped around a hammer that read “i was only joking.” it was just lines - beautiful, stark black lines - no color or shading.

_hammer?_ wes said.

_wrench is too obvious,_ grady said.

_what is this?_ wes said.

_song,_ grady said. _the smiths. come here._

grady led wes to their little stereo, which was entirely grady’s domain. he grabbed one of his cds. the cover was of a woman leaning back, swaddled in darkness. he put it in the stereo, fiddling with the buttons. wes offered his hand and grady grabbed him by the wrist, setting his hand on the speaker and turning the volume up. finally grady grabbed the notebook he kept by the stereo and handed it to wes after quickly flipping through the pages.

at the top of the page was scrawled “big mouth strikes again” in grady’s impatient chicken scratch. wes scanned the words, and his eyes fell upon the following: _sweetness, sweetness i was only joking when i said i’d like to smash every tooth in your head._

wes waited until the song was done and grady switched off the stereo. _is that how you feel about me?_ he said.

_i was pissed,_ grady said. _stupid decision. good song._

_ idiotic decision. _

_ it’s an apology. whenever i piss you off - _

_ you’re only joking? really funny joke. _

_ wes, please. _

_ please what? you hurt me. you went out and got a dumb fucking tattoo about it. _

_ please, i’m sorry. i’m sorry. _

_ you really get so pissed you wanna hurt me? is that it? _

_i’m sorry!_ his eyes were shimmering, and there was color high on his cheeks. jesus, he really _was_ sorry. wes knew grady had a hard time talking about his feelings. he knew he wouldn’t get much out of him besides sorry, but he also knew it would be sincere. it was sincere, wes knew this. but wes was pissed. insulted.

_i can’t talk to you right now,_ wes said, and he went and grabbed his coat and he left.


End file.
